


Ramble On

by anticipatewrites



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-28 00:29:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15036698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anticipatewrites/pseuds/anticipatewrites
Summary: This is is my most popular fic on Tumblr and it really is a beautiful little story about dealing with death and loss and finding the strength to go on. Sammy learns an important life lesson from his dog. There's so much more here and I hope you give it a chance even though I don't want to give too much away in the summary.





	Ramble On

**Author's Note:**

> A/n: So, this is my favorite story that I have written to date. I really wanted to explore Sam and his depth of character and I'm very happy with the way this piece came out. The dog here was inspired by my buddy, Major, and is a kind of tribute to him. I very, very much recommend that you go ahead and listen to Zeppelin's Ramble On before you read this so it's fresh in your head. Go ahead and listen to it afterwards as well. It kinda lends itself to the sense of hope I was going for. Enjoy!

Ramble On

Sam cracked his neck and sighed. After all these years you'da thunk his ass woulda gotten used to ten hour shifts sitting on these old leather seats. 

‘Course he'd spent the first of those years in the back. Reading all that useless shit he'd thought was so important at the time. Chaucer, Dickens, Hemingway. Well, ok, maybe not useless, but he'd never met one of Dickens’ ghosts in real life. He should be so lucky. But he was planning his escape to academia even then. Staring at the back of the two heads in the front seat, only catching bits and pieces of the instructions his father was giving to his brother, his mind wandering to dreams of court battles not yet fought and perfect GPAs. 

And then later, when the Impala had changed hands and his brother had been her captain and Sam’s priorities had shifted from graduating with a degree in law to helping avert the apocalypse and closing the gates of Hell, he had occupied the passenger side of that long, black bench seat. Felt like he'd spent his whole life listening to the growl of the engine and longing for something. 

He leans over and slides the well-used box of cassette tapes from under that same seat. His fingertips know where they all are now. Grabbing the third one from the right, he strips it from the case with one hand and slips it into the slot where it belongs. There was a time when he longed for something different. God, anything different. Remembers a time when he put a fucking iPod dock in. Ha! He thought she was his. The absurdity. She's always been Dean's. Even when she was driving around with bibles in her trunk, she was just waiting on him. 

Laughing a little at the memory, he pushes the tape until it clicks into place and he hears the gears start to turn. Knows better now. Her soundtrack has always been in that box under the seat. 

Leaves are falling all around  
It's time I was on my way  
Thanks to you I'm much obliged  
For such a pleasant stay  
But now it's time for me to go  
The autumn moon lights my way  
For now I smell the rain  
And with it pain  
And it's headed my way  
Ah, sometimes I grow so tired  
But I know I've got one thing I got to do  
Ramble on

 

Sam's in the driver's seat now, doesn't matter. Driver and owner are two different things. His old place, to his right, has been occupied by his best friend for more than a few years now. He reaches over and lays a hand on that scarred, gray muzzle that's seen more than its fair share of life and death situations. His mind plays back to a time that Dean hadn't allowed dogs in his Baby and he chuckles. 

\---------------

“No! Absolutely not, Sam!”

Dean kicks at a chair in the War Room and the black and tan puppy cowers behind Sam's legs with a wary growl. 

“How are we supposed to take care of a fucking dog, dude? We got bigger fish to fry and you know it!!”

Sam looks down and locks eyes with the big brown ones of the curly pup sitting on his feet. He just has this feeling. Can't describe it. Can't explain it. But it's there. Deep down in his heart, flashing like a neon sign. Admittedly, there's always been a soft spot there for the waggily-tailed, but it doesn't feel the same as it has before. Always he's been their savior. Protected them. Brought them back to health and then left them with a better life. 

That's not what this is. He just doesn't know how to explain it to Dean. 

So he pulls the only card he has. The big gun, if you will. And he fires every round right into his brother's big heart. 

He looks up, creases appearing on his forehead between his eyebrows, and he says, with sincerity, even though he's playing his ace, “Dean. I know I'll never be a husband. I know I'll never be a father. Let me have this one thing….”

There's a guilty sigh. And a deep breath. A rolling of the shoulders and a crumbling of resolve. It hurt, but it did the trick. 

“Not in the car.”

\-------------------

Sam scratches behind her floppy ears. His old friend lets out a groan and inches closer to him, laying a head on his lap. The Airedale stretches out her back legs and arthritic hips that Sam knows hurt, despite the medication he gives her each morning. He can identify. Fucking monsters been throwing him up against walls so long, it'd be weird if he didn't hurt. 

\-----------------

In time, Dean came to love her too. Even let her ride in the backseat. They became a trio instead of a pair. 

Took her saving his life, though. 

They were surrounded by Hellhounds. One of Dean's worst nightmares. And Sam understood. Fuck, that was a terrible way to go out. He'd witnessed it first hand, after all. 

Backed into a corner, they were both reliving their separate stints in Hell. There were too many of the damned canids to have a hope. Lucifer was controlling Hell and all of its affiliates. They could feel the sticky-hot breath of the beasts and it was looking like the end. 

Then the snarl came. More terrible than Hellhounds’, if you can believe it. The sound of a mother protecting her pack. It wasn't filled with hate and death, as the Hellhounds’ was, but with love and hope and sacrifice. 

She was bigger than an Airedale was supposed to be. A hundred and twenty pounds, give or take. And she threw every single ounce into that fight. A big ball of righteous fury. Sam swore there was some magic in his girl. Something angelic, but purer, not tainted by greed or hubris. 

By the end, she was just a mass of blood and curls, but she proved to Dean that she was something more. That she loved them with her whole heart. That she would die for them. 

And that meant something to Dean. 

Sam had never seen his brother care for something as he cared for that dog, except for Sam, of course. Took her back to the bunker and cleaned her up. Stitched which wounds needed stitching. All the while muttering, ‘Fucking suicidal animal.’

But actions speak louder than words. Dean went out and bought her a memory foam mattress to match his own. Put it in his room. He shared his bacon with her as she sat by his chair, those big brown eyes touching his heart in some way that he could accept. 

Pretty soon she had her own seat in the back of the Impala. 

‘Shut up, Sam. She's more useful than you'll ever be,’ he said, ducking his head and pretending to be infuriated. 

Sam just smiled, enjoying every single second that his brother loved something that wasn't him or the car. 

Turned out she was super good at sniffing out ghouls. Shape shifters weren't a problem anymore. That deep bark and wagging tail told them pretty much all they needed to know on any given case. 

She was there by their side even when they were in fed suits. Dean was loathe to leave her in the car. 

‘That's a mighty big drug dog y'all got there, son. Didn't know Feds ran with them things,’ some cop in some nameless town had once chuckled at her while shifting through paperwork and eyeing her sideways. 

Sam swore he could see the hair on the back of both their necks raise slightly, bristling at the almost-insult. 

Dean had sauntered over and leaned his elbows on the Formica-covered desk. Gave the old cop a shit-eating grin. ‘Ain't no drug dog, friend. You know Airedales got the biggest teeth of any breed out there?’ He shrugged his shoulders and glanced down at their furry partner as she pulled back her lips and showed the teeth in question, a low growl rumbling up from her chest. Sounded like a fucking werewolf. 

‘Wouldn't go scratching her behind the ears, if ya know what I mean,’ he winked at the old cop who went the color of buttermilk before sliding over the needed files. I guess you could say she was as much Dean's dog as she was Sam's. Or they were hers, either way. 

The one thing Dean couldn't stand about her was how she put her large body between her boys and danger every single time. Djiin, rugaru, wendigo, demon, even fucking angels, man. She was all bristling fury. And they were afraid of her. At least long enough to give the brothers an edge they'd never had before. 

The one thing Dean loved the most about her was that on long, dark, cross country drives, when Sam was snoring softly and Zeppelin was playing on repeat, how she'd lean over the backseat and rest her chin on his shoulder. Maybe lick his cheek if she knew it had been a rough day. Sam never knew, but sometimes he'd give her a kiss on her soft, black nose. 

\--------------

Sam ran a hand over his face and through his now graying hair and then down to land on the similarly graying muzzle resting on his leg. 

It had been their last trip together, he knew. Knew it when they had arrived at that decrepit ghost-laden farmhouse in Nebraska and she had yelped, her back end collapsing on her when she jumped down out of the car. She sat for a moment on the gravel drive, panting in the cool fall evening. Struggling to her feet, she limped up to the decaying front porch steps. She gathered herself for a bit, lifted one paw up on the first step and then the other. She swayed side to side and then crumpled to the ground whining pitifully and looking to her partner with defeat in her eyes. 

Sam doesn't know if that farmhouse in Nebraska is still haunted or not. He never even set foot on its creaky old porch. 

‘Let's go home, girl.’

She was older now than any dog her size had a right to be. Shoulda left him years ago. He was glad she hadn't, though, he'd have never made it through losing Dean if she hadn't been there. 

He'd built the pire with shaking hands, determined to do right by his brother, at least this once. She’d trailed behind him as he collected deadfall, knowing that Dean would want this. Sam had fallen to his knees when a chunk of timber just would not budge and he felt like all of his strength was drained and he was failing yet again. Feeling like the world was spinning and he was losing control, he crouched there, eyes cradled by the heels of his hands, he cried. Deep, sobbing, wretched wails that came from somewhere deep down that he had visited before and had never wanted to return to. But here he was. He was drowning. She walked up behind him slowly, softly and rested her chin on his shoulder. Her tounge flickered out and grazed his stubble-lined cheek. Like chicken broth on a sore throat, she soothed him, allowed her boy to shift and throw his arms around her neck, bury his face in her soft fur. Held him, in her way. When he'd had enough, she walked over to that stubborn branch and took it in her mouth, eyes looking to him with meaning. They carried the last piece of Dean's pire together. 

Sitting on his feet, as she always had, they watched the linen-wrapped body burn, his hand on her shaggy head. She let out a howl that held all of the desperate sadness that was in his heart and steadily leaking down his face. There's nothing that he could have said that would have had held any more weight than the depth of emotion that sound carried. So he let her say their eulogy. 

When it was over and it was time to take Dean's baby home, he opened the back door, expecting a furry blur to fly past him and into her seat. But there was no movement. He turned around to see her just sitting there, head cocked to the side. Two short barks and he shut the back door, moving to open the passenger door instead. She bounded in and curled up on the worn leather, knowing it was just the two of them now. Stepping up to fill the void, always knowing what he needed. 

And that's right where she had sat through every long mile that had passed beneath the beloved car’s four spinning tires for the last ten years. 

\--------------------

The Impala grumbled, waiting for the bunker’s garage to open before squeaking in on the clean concrete floor and coming to a stop beside Dorothy’s long abandoned bike. 

Sam cut the engine and sat quiet for a moment. He traced the familiar shape of the steering wheel that had guided two brothers down the path their lives had taken. The last refrain of Dean's favorite song came softly from the dashboard…

I gotta keep searching for my baby  
I can't find my bluebird  
I listen to my bluebird sing  
I can't find my bluebird  
I keep rambling, baby  
I keep rambling, baby

He turned the knob, clicking off the tape deck before getting out and walking around the shiny black hood to open the passenger side door. She didn't make a move to get out, just looked up at him with those same soft eyes, gone rheumy now with age. 

‘It's ok, girl, I gotcha.’

Back and knees popping in protest, he leaned down and picked her up, cradling her in his arms as he had when she was ten pounds instead of a buck twenty. 

Dean's room was there on the right and he toed open the door to lay his friend on the well-earned memory foam mattress. He had tried to move it to his room… you know, after…. but she'd still come in here and sleep on the cold concrete floor, so he'd moved it back. Felt right that there was still life here among his brother's neatly mounted weapons and dusty records. Clothes that would never be worn again, nor thrown out. 

She grunted as he stood to look at her, but she didn't stir. Sam watched the slow rise and fall of her curly chest before sitting down beside her, back resting against the cool wall. Leaning over, he put one large hand on each side of her beloved head and kissed her soft, black nose. 

‘Thank you,’ he whispered. 

She closed her eyes, satisfied. 

Sam sat there for a very long time that night, fingers tangled in the riot of fur on the top of her head. Way past when she had stopped breathing and her big heart had gone still. 

He felt a little hollow. A little lost. But accepting as well. Hers was a life well-lived and complete. Not snatched away, bloody and premature. He thought about the great, sucking void that Dean had left in him, how he had grieved. Maybe this was another gift she had given him. The gift of understanding the peace that comes at the end of a life lived fully. Accepting what is and continuing on. 

For hours he sat there on that hard, cold floor. Looking around his brother's room. Remembering. His mind caressing each gentle memory, savoring their time together and the things he had learned from each of them. 

And then came the Great Question. The one his consciousness shied away from. Unanswerable, perhaps. 

What now?

\----------------------

Sam decided to bury his dog on top of the hillside next to the bunker. Opening the trunk, still emblazoned with a faded white devil’s trap, he reached for one of the two worn-handled shovels lying amongst the weapons and charms. His eyes landed on the once-used grenade launcher and he suddenly missed his brother fiercely. Even after more than a decade he could still hear, ‘yippy ki yay’ and see that giant, earth shattering smile on Dean's face as they made one last Hail Mary pass at survival. 

He chuckled a little at that. Leave it to Dean to put a smile on his face at a time like this. Sam shook his head and closed the trunk with a squeak and a bang. 

After the plot had been chosen and the hole dug, he slowly made his way down the halls of the bunker, missing the click clack of nails that always trailed right behind him. He peeked in the half open door and took in the tumbling pile of black and tan curls as a parent might check on a sleeping child. His heart clinched at the thought. 

Sam pulled the burgundy blanket off of Dean's bed to wrap her in. Such was his affinity for providing her comfort, it felt right. He wrapped her body in it gently, much as he had once wrapped another, and carried it from the lifeless room, leaving two vacant memory foam mattresses in his wake. 

He didn't have a definitive answer as to why he had chosen to bury her instead of giving her the traditional hunter’s funeral. Maybe because he just wanted her close. Maybe it was simply because he'd never heard of a dog coming back. Outside of a King novel, anyway. Probably it was because he might want to visit her from time to time. Knowing she was in the earth and the trees and the underbrush surrounding his home gave him a certain peace somehow. 

The sun was coming up as he walked back down the hill and pulled open that heavy, groaning door that he had entered so many times before. His footsteps rang off of the wrought iron steps as he made his way into the library. The word alone echoed in his mind. Not knowing what else to do, his muscle memory made him sit down in one of the wooden chairs, opening his laptop as his left hand absently traced the four letters carved into the table. 

‘Five dead in freak accident. Unknown cause of death.’

Sam cracked his neck and rubbed circles around his eyes. Standing up, he grabbed his canvas jacket from the back of his chair and headed for the garage. Towards the only purpose he'd ever known. 

The sunrise was gorgeous, dressed in oranges and purples and pinks. Deserted, the highway glittered out before him, reflecting all of the colors two fold. He leaned over and switched the knob, turning on the tape deck. 

Leaves are falling all around  
It's time I was on my way  
Thanks to you I'm much obliged  
For such a pleasant stay  
But now it's time for me to go  
The autumn moon lights my way  
For now I smell the rain  
And with it pain  
And it's headed my way  
Ah, sometimes I grow so tired  
But I know I've got one thing I got to do  
Ramble on  
Ramble on

 

A/n the second: Go. Go right fucking NOW and listen to Ramble on. Picture Sam flying down that open highway into the sunrise, windows down, graying hair whipping all around. Yeah, that sense of hope you feel…. that's what I was going for. Much love… Amy


End file.
